


Concomitant

by GreaterGood (1oveclub)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1oveclub/pseuds/GreaterGood
Summary: A collection of prompt fills from tumblr, so I don’t lose them.





	1. “We’re meant for each other.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me prompts @ 1oveclub.tumblr.com   
> All kinds are welcome

“Where are you going?” Albus asks, sitting up out of bed and watching as Gellert throws the blankets aside and starts to pull on his clothes. “Gellert. You can’t just run away because we’ve disagreed on something...”

“I can do as I please,” Gellert replies, coldly.

“But I cannot? Must I agree with everything you say? Must I share each of your opinions?” Albus asks, annoyed. “That doesn’t sound quite like a partnership to me!”

“No, Albus, you needn’t agree with everything I say, but sometimes it feels as if you are against my ideas!”

Albus leans back, affronted, and pulls the blanket up around himself. 

 

“I’m not against you at all, Gel’,” he says, quieter, “I just feel as if there are ways to bring about your visions of the world that we want to build in ways that are less... violent. I don’t feel that we will be successful with such barbaric tactics.”

“You think me barbaric, then?”

“No,” Albus sighs, pushing the blankets away and crawling across the space between them, then resting his hands on Gellert’s taut shoulders. “But I think that if we are not cautious of the consequences of our actions, they will come across as so. Do you understand?”

Gellert is quiet for a moment, and then little by little Albus starts to feel him relax. He uses this to his advantage, and wraps his arms around his lover’s shoulders, stroking his bare chest where his shirt still hangs open.

“I understand,” he relents, and Albus strokes his hair away and leans in to press a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

“You won’t leave me, then?” Albus asks quietly.

“I won’t leave you, no. I’ll never leave you, Albus. Do you think I could turn any of my visions into reality without you? Do you think that I would ever want to?”

Albus embraces Gellert tighter, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Would you?” He asks, even though he thinks that he knows the answer.

“Never,” Gellert replies, reaching back to run his fingers through Albus’s hair. “I want you by my side, Albus. I need you with me. You and I... We’re meant for each other.”

Albus lets a relieved breath out against Gellert’s skin.

“Come back to bed.”


	2. “Just breathe, okay?”

The air in the room feels sticky, and Albus’s top clings to his sweaty skin. He sighs and turns over again, pushing the blankets off of himself. The heat is too much to handle with his racing mind. 

 

He sits up and scoots back enough to rest his back against the headboard. He looks over at Gellert’s sleeping form, his eyes closed and his face free of any tension. Albus envies that, right now. He wants to pet Gellert’s hair, to run his fingers through it and untangle the curls. He wants for him to wake up and take Albus into his arms and snog away all the anxiety that he feels building in his chest. Gellert so rarely sleeps peacefully like this though, so Albus’s hands stay in his lap. 

 

He slips carefully out of bed and over to the door, opening it slowly to avoid the creaking hinges, and sneaks out into the hall. 

 

It’s completely dark, and his eyes take a few moments to adjust. He stops first at Aberforth’s room, opening the door carefully and peeking in. He’s sound asleep, snoring softly. Hobble, the lame goat, is sleeping on a cot beside the bed. Albus shakes his head. He doesn’t know how many times he’s told Abe to leave the dirty animal in the barn, but he’s learning quickly to pick his battles. 

 

He moves on down the hall, looking in on Ariana, who is curled up under her blankets and sleeping peacefully. He watches her for a minute or so, her sweet face and her messy blonde hair. His chest feels constricted like his lungs are full of tar, and his stomach churns with a mixture of shameful remorse and guilt. The heat washes over him again, prickling his skin and making him feel as if the walls are closing around him. He backs away from her door and continues down the hall, down the steps to the kitchen, and out the back door. 

 

The air is still thick and humid, but the night sky helps a bit. He sits down there in the garden, crossing his legs, and focuses his attention on plucking blades of grass to distract himself from the war waging in his brain. He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until the hot tears land on his bare knees. It surprises him, and then the flood gates break. 

 

He presses his palms to his eyes, elbows resting on his knees as his body is wracked with sobs. 

 

It isn’t fair, he thinks. He misses his parents. He was never close to his father, never like Aberforth and Ariana, but he misses him all the same. The guilt-ridden part of him pines for the time when the responsibility hadn’t rested entirely upon his shoulders. He misses his mother more, though. He misses her gentle embraces and her easy smiles from before, and her cooking. He misses her advice in daunting situations. He wants more than anything to go back, to be able to go to her and have her hold him, especially now. He misses feeling affection for his siblings without resenting their existence. He aches for the time when they didn’t resent his, as well. 

 

“Albus?” 

 

It startles him, and he wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands and sits up, turning to see Gellert walking toward him. Something in his chest stirs, but he knows what he needs to do. 

 

“Go home,” he says. His voice sounds rough to his own ears, raw in the dead of night. 

 

“What?” Gellert asks, finally approaching. “What are you doing out h-”

 

“Go home,” Albus repeats, more firmly. “We can’t… this has to stop, Gel. It isn’t realistic. Go home.” 

 

Gellert’s hand rubs over his back, and he drops down to his knees on the ground at Albus’s side. 

 

“You’re crying. What’s happened?”

 

“You,” Albus rasps through gritted teeth. “You happened. This isn’t… you weren’t supposed to come here. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I can’t be a part of this anymore, I have responsibilities here. I have a duty to my siblings. Go home, Gellert! Leave!”

 

He’s crying again. He doesn’t try to hold it back. Gellert’s arms go around him, pulling him in. 

 

“Where’s this coming from, love?” He asks, confused. “We’ve talked about this. We’ll figure it all out, yes?”

 

Albus shakes his head, clutching at Gellert’s night shirt and pushing his face into his shoulder. He just cries harder, breath coming in harsh gasps, feeling like his lungs might explode. 

 

“No. No we won’t. There’s nothing to figure out. I belong here, and I’ll only hold you back. Leave me.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Gellert whispers, his hands rubbing over Albus’s back in soothing motions, arms wrapped protectively around him. “Albus. Darling.” 

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Albus cries. “It shouldn’t have been like this…”

 

Gellert pulls Albus into his lap, falling back off his knees, and holds him tightly. Albus feels himself being rocked back and forth, and hears the sweet things Gellert breathes into his ear. 

 

“It’s alright, mäuschen. Just breathe, okay? I won’t go. Just breathe.” 

 

Gellert holds him like that until he calms down, until all the fight has gone out of him and his tears have dried. 

 

Eventually, he must fall asleep, because when he wakes, he’s back in his own bed. Gellert’s arm is still wrapped around him, holding him close, easing the pain in his chest and quieting his mind.


	3. “Tell Me What’s Wrong” & “There’s Nothing Wrong With You.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Albus doesn’t answer. He turns the page in his book and continues to read. He’s pressed back against Gellert’s chest, between his knees, and they’re sat under the big oak tree on the hill up from the farm.

Gellert nuzzles into his neck, embracing him around his shoulders and restricting his arms. He can’t help but smile. He looks over his shoulder at Gellert, raising his eyebrows. 

“What makes you think something is wrong?” He asks, closing his book. 

“You’ve been moody all afternoon,” Gellert says, still holding him tightly. “You’ve barely spoken. That, Albus Dumbledore, is how I know that something is wrong.”

Albus scoffs, pinching Gellert’s knee since it’s the only thing that he can reach. “I take offense to that. I do not talk that much.”

Gellert’s eyebrows raise, and he grins. “You aren’t a man of few words, was all I meant.”

He may be a bit right. Albus sighs and puts his hands over Gellert’s, relaxing against his chest.

“I’ve just been thinking a lot. Ariana has been more…unwell. More than normal. Aberforth is very good with her, he cares for her. I worry about them, though.” 

Gellert hums. “He is good with her. He knows how to speak to her.” 

Albus looks over, down the hill at the pasture. Ariana sits at the edge of the poppy field, the old sheepdog curled up at her side while she picks flowers. Aberforth, just feet away, is feeding his goats, taking turns with each one of them. Albus laughs to himself. “He does love those goats. He’s been letting the lame one into the house at night to sleep beside him.”

Gellert laughs too, a quiet noise in Albus’s ear. “He is good with them, as well. He has a gentle nature it seems, at least with everyone but me.”

“And me,” Albus points out.

“That, I assume, is more my fault than yours.” 

Albus shrugs. “He is angry with me. That is why he is angry with you.” 

Gellert laces their fingers together and Albus lets his book fall into his lap. 

“I feel… sometimes…” he shakes his head, trailing off. 

Gellert is quiet for a moment, and then asks, quietly, “Guilty for the contempt that you feel?” 

Albus pauses, and then nods. “I miss them. My parents. But mostly, I miss having parents. I miss not being one.”

It’s an admission that he’s never voiced before. It both eases the tension of his shoulders, and makes his stomach feel ill. 

“It’s selfish,” he says, “for me to want them back just to relieve myself.” 

“It is expected,” Gellert says. “You are not their parent, Albus. It is understandable that you are reluctant to assume that role.” 

Albus sighs, turning his head to look back over at his siblings. Ariana hasn’t moved, but Aberforth is staring back at him now, disapproval written all over his face that stirs anger deep in Albus’s gut. He closes his eyes and lies his head back against Gellert’s shoulder. 

“That stone that you spoke of- the Hallows. Your wand and cloak. Would it… do you think it truly does what the stories say it does? It would resurrect them?” 

“It would,” Gellert confirms, “if, in fact, it does as they say.” 

“It would give them their parents back, and it would free me,” he whispers. 

”It would, yes,” Gellert agrees, and presses a kiss to Albus’s neck. 

“But at what cost?” He asks, as Gellert strokes his hair off his neck and continues to mouth along it, down into the crook. “Am I such a monster that I’d go to lengths such as those to rid myself of that burden?”

“You aren’t a monster,” Gellert insists, cradling Albus’s jaw in his hand and kissing him on the opposite side. “You are a budding, prodigious young wizard with the whole world at your feet, Albus. A world that we will build together, for the greater good, like you said. For ourselves. For your sister. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to utilize tools that will ensure that, for you. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Albus turns his head and kisses Gellert’s waiting mouth, reaching up to stroke his cheek. 

“Then why does it feel like I’m constantly on the edge of making the wrong choice? Why does it feel as if I’ll be letting them down, no matter what?” 

“You won’t be,” Gellert assures. “They will understand, one day. They will see, and they will thank you.”


	4. “You Still Think I Do Not Love You?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten or so years after the summer that they met.

Albus loves Muggle Munich. He’s loved it since the first time that he visited, years and years ago when he was still a boy, and had traveled here with Elphias and his family. He loves the culture and the art, and he loves the food as well. He especially loves the architecture. 

He pulls the hood of his coat up higher to protect his face as he rushes to cross the cobbled street, the heels of his boots tapping against stone. The chilly wind whips his hair and stings his cheeks, but he’s close, so he bows his head and hurries. 

Blessed warm air hits him right in the face he pulls open the door of the hotel. It’s loud, crowded with busy muggles on a Monday morning, and it’s exactly why Albus picked this place. He hitches his charmed shoulder bag up higher and approaches the front desk. The woman there smiles as she turns to greet him, and he’s impressed at how easily she recovers when she falters, looking him up and down quickly. 

He doesn’t mind. He’s been told that his penchant for brightly coloured coats and heeled boots don’t help him to blend in to the muggle world any more than the Wizarding one.

He takes the stairs to the fifth floor, glancing down at his key to check the room number. It’s quite a walk, but he doesn’t complain, as his backside is quite sore from the train ride. He isn’t accustomed to muggle ways of travel anymore, but he had found them curious enough to take in this instance, if for nothing but the experience, and the way that it is more difficult to track.

He fits the key into the door once he’s found it, checking the hall and slipping inside. He lowers his hood and shrugs out of his coat, tossing it onto the bed with his bag as he passes, and snapping his fingers to give himself some light. The lamps flicker on at once, and the blinds fly open. Albus pulls the curtain aside, looking down at the city below him and feeling a strange sense of something that he can’t quite place. He hums to himself and turns around, then stumbles back against the wall, hand to his chest as he makes a noise of terrifying surprise.

“Willkommen, Geliebter,” says the man who’s sprawled across the chair in the corner. He’s as unmistakable as ever, fair and handsome, mismatched eyes, and that wicked grin. 

“Merlin, Gellert,” Albus says, righting himself and turning away. 

He’d known that he had been followed, but he more expected it to be someone from the Ministry keeping an eye on him. 

Now that he knows, he isn’t truly all that surprised. 

“You know, it’s courtesy in most places to not enter until you are invited in,” he says, looking down into the street again. He takes notice of the open lock on the window, and traces his fingers over it. Some things don’t change, he supposed. 

“I was here before you,” Gellert shrugs, like that makes it okay. 

“How did you even know…” 

He doesn’t need to finish his question. Gellert is giving him that devilish grin again, and he taps the point of his wand to his forehead, just above the arch of the eyebrow that frames his lighter eye. 

“Hm,” Albus laughs, and he leans back against the desk, resting his bottom on the ledge and crossing his ankles. “Seems you’ve finally learned to control your gift, then.” 

“I have,” Gellert agrees, twirling his wand in his fingertips. His other hand rests on his thigh, and Albus can’t help but look once he’s noticed. Gellert’s flair for dark, dramatic clothing hasn’t changed over the years, Albus notes. He finds that this pleases him, though he’s loathe to admit it. He folds his hands in his lap and meets Gellert’s grin once again. 

“Too bad that your impulse control is still desiring,” he says, and Gellert’s smile only falters momentarily. 

“You knew that I would come,” Gellert accuses. 

“I didn’t know, but I suspected. Truthfully, it wasn’t you who I anticipated.”

“Who, then?” He asks. 

“Oh, Gellert,” Albus smiles, fixing him with a knowing look. “You’re quite aware that the ministry is keeping a good eye on me, now. Why else would you be here?” 

Gellert’s gaze doesn’t falter this time, but his fingers twitch. He doesn’t deny it. 

“They’ve questioned you.” It isn’t a question in itself, but Albus answers, 

“Yes. More than once. I was happy to tell them before that I’d had no contact with you in years, and that the last time we spoke, I knew nothing of your plans. What will I tell them now?” He asks, frowning.

“You will tell them nothing,” Gellert says, rising from his chair and coming closer. “You will continue to tell them nothing, Albus.”

He’s still taller, though by now it is only a mere inch or so. He intimidates Albus no more than he had done all that time ago. He holds his wand out though, keeping space between them. The tip rests just over Gellert’s heart. 

“How do you know that I’ve told them nothing?” Albus asks. 

“Because, had you told them what you knew, you’d be half as guilty as I am. Colluding with the public enemy, Albus. If only Travers could see just how easy you were to persuade, back then.” 

Albus’s cheeks heat and it spreads. He can’t remember the last time anyone made him flush. He shakes his head. 

“That isn’t correct and you know it,” Albus says. “I wouldn’t go down for your transgressions, Gellert. They would utilize me as a weapon against you, though.” 

“They would try. But then they would find out about this:”

Time seems to slow down as Gellert reaches into his shirt and withdrawals the pendant. It’s so distantly familiar. Albus gasps. 

“You can’t move against me, Albus,” Gellert reminds him, stepping right up into his space. “You can’t fight me. You can’t duel me. You can’t harm a hair on my head, Lover.”

“Don’t,” Albus breathes. 

Gellert doesn’t heed his warning. His hands go straight for Albus’s hips, pressing their bodies together. “You certainly didn’t mention it, did you? Your oath to me? Your loyalty? Your heart, Albus? Is it still mine?”

Albus lets out a shaky breath, feeling Gellert’s hands on his waist, drawing him closer. He feels the brush of his nose and the heat of his breath, the graze of his lips. He opens his mouth in anticipation, but whether it is of words or a kiss, he isn’t sure. He gets neither. Gellert grasps his chin and strokes his thumb along Albus’s bottom lip. 

“You know that you could always come back to me, my love. You could take your place by my side. We would be unstoppable, Albus. Think of what we will do. It isn’t childish talk, anymore. You still have me. I am still yours.” 

Albus doesn’t mean to laugh, but he huffs a little one out against Gellert’s thumb. He questions it, and Albus opens his eyes just enough to look him in his. 

“Do you think I’ll fall for that again, Gellert? I was merely a child. It was easy for you to manipulate me into believing that you ever returned my feelings for you.” 

Gellert’s fingers find Albus’s hair, gripping tightly at the crown of his head. Albus gasps softly, his head going back with the force of it, his mouth open. Gellert has always been good at pushing his buttons. 

“You really believe this, Albus?” He asks, quietly. Their lips touch for a moment, but it isn’t a kiss. “You think I would lie to you? When have I ever been dishonest?” 

Albus knows that, at least, is true. He can’t remember an instance where Gellert hadn’t been truthful. Albus gazes back at him, swallowing. Gellert tracks the movement with his eyes. 

“You think I lie now? Telling you that you still have my heart?” He speaks softly, and Albus’s eyes fall closed, forgetting for a moment why he shouldn’t want Gellert to kiss him now. “After everything? You still think that I do not love you?” 

Albus’s fingers curl into the front of Gellert’s jacket, holding him close. He yields to his touch, letting Gellert kiss him, sitting back against the desk again and letting Gellert between his knees. 

“I think that you do not understand love,” Albus answers finally, once their mouths have parted. “You craved my attention. You still do. You love attention. You love my infatuation with you.” 

“That is true,” Gellert admits, his grip in Albus’s hair loosening, holding his head carefully instead. “I loved the intensity of your focus on me. I loved that you would do anything to please me.” He kisses Albus again, stroking a hand down his chest. “But you are wrong in thinking that I do not have deeper feelings toward you. I love that you love me, Albus Dumbledore, but I do love you in return.” 

Albus initiates the kiss, this time. He kisses Gellert fiercely, backing him away from the desk and across to the bed. His fingers are already unbuttoning Gellert’s waistcoat, wrestling his jacket off his shoulders. He feels His suspenders being unclipped and his shirt being untucked, then hands undoing his fly. 

“This doesn’t mean I’ll join you,” he insists, letting Gellert roll him onto his back, soft cotton sheets against his bare skin. 

He feels Gellert’s soft laugh against his throat. 

“It doesn’t mean you won’t, either.”


	5. “Going Somewhere?” & “Who Hurt You?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and his brother have a little argument and a little duel.
> 
> Gellert saves the day, kinda.

“Going somewhere?”

Albus stops in his tracks, his heart hammering. He turns slowly, his eyes falling on Aberforth who sits at the kitchen table in his nightshirt, mug cradled in his hands.

“Yes,” Albus answers, hitching his bag up higher on his shoulder. “What’re you doing still up?”

“Is it a crime to have milk in my own kitchen?” Aberforth challenges, his face stony and his shoulders set. Albus doesn’t want to argue with him, but he knows that’s how it’ll end.

“You should be in bed,” he says.

“I could say the same for you.” He sips his milk without taking his eyes off of Albus. 

“I’m of age, and I’ll do as I please,” Albus tells him. “And I’m in charge here, and I say you need to go to bed.”

Aberforth laughs at him, humorlessly. “Could have fooled me. You’re ‘in charge.’ Of what, exactly?”

Albus grits his teeth. “Of you. I won’t have your back talk, Abe. I’m going to Gellert’s. Go to bed.” 

“Ahhh, Yes,” Alberforth says. “As I expected. That’s all you’re in charge of, Albus. Sneaking off and lying.” 

“Why are you always on my arse?” Albus asks. He hears his voice raising without meaning for it to, but he’s angry. 

“Why are you always off doing everything but what you’re meant to do?” Aberforth shouts back. “Why do you stick around if you hate being here so much? Why not run off with your new pet?” 

“You mind your mouth,” Albus threatens, pulling his wand and pointing it at his brother, “or I’ll mind it for you!”

“You’d love to, wouldn’t you? You’d love any excuse.”

This hits Albus like a sack of stones in the chest. Surely Aberforth doesn’t believe that. 

“Why must you make me out to be some… monster? You could go make your own friends, Abe. It’s you who chooses to shut yourself up with the goats and pretend that nothing else exists!”

“And it is you who chooses to sneak away at all hours of the day and night to undress with someone you don’t even know! You think I don’t know what you two do up in your room?” He gets up out of his chair and comes around the table. “I’m no fool, Albus. I know what you let…” he pauses, his cheeks red with anger and Albus’s red with mortification. “You can’t see that he uses you. For filthy things, as well as for your brain!”

“You won’t speak of what you don’t understand,” Albus shouts, stepping toward his brother, his fingers trembling around his wand. “What we do is none of your concern, and I won’t have you berating me for it just because you’re jealous that someone’s attention isn’t on you.”

“No,” Aberforth says, more calmly. “I’m not jealous for that, Albus. Everyone’s attention has always been focused on you and your big head. Think you’re so clever because someone wrote you into the newspaper? I’ve got some news for you: for someone so reportedly intelligent, you’re incredibly asinine!” 

Albus waves his hand before he thinks, and the mug in Aberforth’s hand turns over, spilling milk all down his front. 

“Oppungo!” Aberforth shouts, and Albus is knocked to the floor by the force of the pot that flies off the stove and catches him in the side of his face. Everything is fuzzy for a moment, but he finds his wand on the floor and points it back at Aberforth. 

“Flipendo!” He yells, and Aberforth is knocked back into the table, flipping it over and taking the bread and fruit left from dinner with it. 

“STOP!” 

Albus clutches his hand to his head and looks toward the steps. Ariana is there in her nightgown, her blanket wrapped around her thin shoulders. Her face is pallid and her eyes are dark, her hands clenched in fists. 

“STOP. FIGHTING.”

The pictures on the walls rattle.

“Ari,” Aberforth says carefully, crawling out from under the mess on the floor and getting to his feet. He approaches her slowly. “Let’s go back to bed. We’ll leave Albus be. He’s going out.

Albus is glad that he seems to be okay, and feels guilty for hurting him. His head throbs in objection though. He watches their backs as they go before he gets to his feet, stumbling a bit, and and pulls his hand away to see blood spotting his sleeve. He tucks his wand back into his pocket and grabs his bag, tugging the back door shut behind him. 

He sneaks through the back door of Bathilda’s house, locking it behind him and slipping his loafers off. He carries them up the steps, moving quickly and quietly so he won’t be caught. 

Gellert is already dozing on his bed when Albus enters. He drops his bag onto the desk chair with his shoes, and crawls in beside him. Gellert startles and looks at Albus for a moment before he notices the blood. 

“What happened?” He asks, reaching out and resting his hand over the wound. “Who did this? Who hurt you?” 

Albus feels the gash healing, the pain melting away to a dull thud behind his eyes. 

“Aberforth,” he answers, lying back against the pillows. “We fought, he caught me sneaking out.”

“And he struck you?” Gellert asks, shocked. 

“Well,” Albus starts, grinning and touching his hand to Gellert’s, folding their fingers together, “only after I’d dumped his milk down his chest.” 

Gellert laughs, lying back down beside Albus and pulling him into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot that bled before. 

“You deserved it, then.”

“Aye, I did.”


	6. “You’ve Always Felt Like Home.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime before FBAWTFT, maybe a few years.

The sunsets are beautiful in Paris. Albus watches as the sky shifts, lovely shades of pinks and oranges into purples and then, finally, dark blue. He takes a drag off his third cigarette, and ashes it over the balcony. It burns his throat on the way down, or at least he tells himself that’s what causes the ache. There’s a glass of wine balanced delicately in his other hand, nearly gone now, and it might be his third as well, but he thinks to himself, who’s counting?

He takes the last pull off his cigarette and flicks it over the ledge, watching as it falls down below into the garden, just as he hears the snick of the glass door from behind.

“Are you still brooding?” The familiar voice asks.

“Are you still determined to make me regret inviting you?” He asks back.

“Mm. I’ve not decided, yet.”

Albus rolls his eyes.

He sees, peripherally, Gellert falling into the chair beside him and stretching his long legs. He looks away.

“Have you thought at all about what I asked you?”

Albus doesn’t answer. He tips his glass up instead and swallows what’s left, then sets it on the ledge of the balcony. He studies it for a moment, and thinks it’s like a metaphor for his life as it is. It wouldn’t take much for it to tip in either direction; there’s nothing keeping it from falling either way.

“Yes,” he answers finally, “And No.”

“Al-” Gellert starts, and Albus shakes his head, straightening up where he stands and looking over at Gellert. It isn’t any easier now than it was ten years ago, fighting with Gellert. He’s the devil in sheep’s skin, sometimes. He’s beautiful, more so now than ever, and the way he looks at Albus now nearly makes the decision for him, the figurative fall of fragile glass.

“Don’t,” is all he says. “Don’t.”

“Albus, please,” Gellert pleads, pitting his feet back on the ground and leaning forward. “Think about what you’re doing here! You reached out to me!”

“Because I knew you followed me!” Albus shouts back automatically, and then takes a deep breath to center himself.

“Because you want me,” Gellert corrects. He’s right, of course. Albus loathes to admit that every bone in his body aches and yearns for Gellert Grindelwald. “You can’t even deny it.”

“I can’t,” Albus confirms. He squints out over the city below them, and reaches into the pocket of his dressing gown for another cigarette. His fingers tremble, and he struggles to light it. Gellert takes it from between his lips, which startles Albus, who hadn’t seen him move, and blows on the end. It ignites and burns out. Gellert takes a drag before he passes it back.

“You can’t, and yet you resist me. You invite me into your room, into your bed, but you hide your thoughts from me as we speak, and you refuse to be persuaded.”

His shirt is still unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck, belt hanging open. He looks the very picture of the morning after. Albus’s heart lurches, traitorously. His body betrays him. He lets Gellert kiss him, again.

“Oh, Albus,” Gellert whispers. “I’ve missed you so. I’ve yearned for you, and dreamt of the day we’d be together again.”

Albus feels tears well in his eyes. His fingers clutch at the open front of Gellert’s shirt.

“I want you by my side, Albus. That never changed,” he continues. “You, my equal. My partner. My love.”

Albus nods, and the tears spill down his cheeks.

“You are the only person I’ve ever cared for, do you understand?” Gellert presses their foreheads together, holding Albus’s face in his careful hands. “You are the only one I’ve loved. You’ve always been my heart. You’ve always felt like home. Everything I’ve done, Albus. For you. For us.”

Albus nods again, clutching at Gellert’s collar, holding him close. He’s right. He’s right, Albus thinks, because he feels the same, the exact same. Word for word, and thought for thought, as if it were pieced together from his own head.

He stops, letting his hands fall from Gellert’s shirt as he feels the cold sting of realization hit him. He looks up into Gellert’s face, searching for any hint that he may be wrong.

“You’re… are you in my head?” He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, recognizing the haziness and lack of focus for what it is now. “How did you do that? You’re... my thoughts… Gellert, you swore…”

He doesn’t even have the decency to lie, to deny it.

“It doesn’t make it any less true, Albus,” Gellert says, clutching at his shoulders now. “It’s all true. The way you feel, the thoughts you have. I feel the same, Albus. I love you.”

“No. No, you don’t love me, Gellert,” he says, backing away slowly. “You don’t know how to love. You don’t understand what love is. You aren’t capable of love.”

The wind gusts past them, and the glass on the bannister tips. It hits the concrete below and shatters.


	7. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus is a shameless flirt.
> 
> First kisses.

‘...I do hope to see you soon. Love, your son, G.’

Gellert lies his quill down in the grass and tears the parchment off the roll, folding it and whistling for Aegis, Albus’s pet owl. 

When he looks over to him, he’s already looking back.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” He asks. 

Albus grins at him. “Like what?” He asks back. 

He’s exceedingly coy, sometimes. Gellert finds that he doesn’t mind it. Like now, Gellert is sat in the grass with Albus stretched out in the dewy morning grass at his side, russet colored hair splayed out behind him and gleaming in the sunlight, his blue eyes heavy with sleep that never came the night before; for they’d stayed up until near dawn, talking.

Gellert narrows his eyes, studying him. “Like there’s something going on inside that red head,” he teases, leaning back on his hands. 

Albus’s smile spreads and he closes his eyes. He turns his face back up toward the sun, which makes it harder to tell if the pink in his cheeks and across his lightly freckled nose comes from being pleased, or being sunburned. 

“I know not what you mean,” he replies. Gellert has never met anyone as maddeningly charming at being evasive. 

It’s curious, Gellert thinks. 

It’s also curious to him why it affects him so much. 

He’s met people from all over the world, many people, all with different manners of personality, and yet not one has ever interested him the way that Albus does with his flamboyance and humor as well as his intellect. 

He watches Albus for a moment, still as a statue, his eyes closed and his lips parted. His shirt is unlaced toward the top, untucked at the hem. His trousers are still rolled up his calves from treading through the creek, leaving his ankles as bare as his feet, loafers abandoned in the grass just an arms length away. Gellert wants to touch the fragile bones there, feel his skin. It’s a funny thing to desire, he thinks. 

He hears the clearing of someone’s throat, and looks up to meet Albus’s eyes once more. There’s that glint in them, that crooked little grin, an arched eyebrow. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Albus says, like he doesn’t know. Gellert doubts very much that this is the case. 

“Like what?” He asks, this time. 

Albus leans up onto his elbows, his thoughtful eyes watching, searching. 

“Like that,” he says softly, backs of his fingers just barely brushing Gellert’s knee. It could’ve been an accident. “Like you might see something you like.” His tone is teasing, but they both know he isn’t. 

“I might,” Gellert agrees quietly, eyes leaving Albus’s only to glance toward his lips. His tongue peeks out to wet them, and then his teeth scrape the bottom one. Gellert wants him to close the space between them. He wants to feel those lips on his own, to taste the wild strawberries that they picked earlier; he knows he’ll be able to, the way the juice stained his lips red. He wants Albus to kiss him. 

Still, it’s a surprise when he does. 

It’s a soft thing, just a peck that shocks them both. Albus sits back with his eyes wide and his mouth open. Gellert licks his lips and then follows, leaning in to return the kiss. Neither of them pull away, this time. Albus’s hand cups Gellert’s cheek, and he scoots in closer, tilting his head to the side for a better angle. 

It’s almost exactly like Gellert expected. Albus’s mouth is careful, his lips soft and his kisses gentle. He tastes of fruit and, Gellert suspects, something that is uniquely himself. It’s different though, because it gives him the sort of head rush that he hasn’t gotten before from kissing other people. It gives him the sort of sensation that he never understood when people talked about kissing. He can’t place it, it isn’t precise, but Albus’s teeth scrape his lip and he feels a hint of tongue after, and his head goes a bit hazy. The next thing he knows, Albus is smiling against his mouth, huffing a laugh out, touching their foreheads together. At some point, he’d ended up over Gellert’s lap, hands in his hair. Gellert laughs too. 

“I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Albus breathes, his eyes closed and his fingers still stroking through Gellert’s hair. 

He laughs again. “You’ve only known me for a week,” he points out, leaning his head back to look at Albus.

Albus shrugs, still smiling. “Maybe I can, then.” He sits back against Gellert’s thighs, cheeks still flushed and his hair a grassy, disheveled mess. 

Gellert sits up and kisses him again.


End file.
